


She Played

by supermusingz



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Dark Past, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:03:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10016957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermusingz/pseuds/supermusingz
Summary: In which Laura Hall learns that Colin can play the piano. No pairing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this years ago (like an embarrassingly long time ago) and I just recently found it and decided to edit it and post it. It's unofficially related to Kicked Puppy, but only if you squint, but can stand alone.

………

It was late, she realized. She had gotten lost in her music as people filed out after taping. She enjoyed the acoustics of the studio, something she couldn’t get playing her piano at home. The studio was almost empty except for the last of the cleaning crew still sweeping up. They were used to her presence and her music on the days Whose Line filmed. She couldn’t believe she did it again, that was what?, the third time this week she forgot to leave work. She must be the only woman on earth who actually forgot to leave work. But who would want to leave, with such a great job like hers. Free comedy, free eye candy.

Colin was nothing special, really (oh, when did she admit it was him?). He just had that cheeky, shy smile about him and those chocolate brown eyes that made her melt. There was just something about him that caught her eye. He wasn’t exactly open. The rest of the crew and cast always warmly greeted her, smiled, asked how she was as if to make her feel like she was part of the Whose Line family, but all he did was give a soft nod and a smile unless she spoke to him first and struck up the conversation. He was just shy. That was the only word to explain it.

She had noticed something different about him lately. Something off. On numerous occasions she swore she saw him pull out a piece of paper and read the contents over and over as if to make sure what it said was true.

Sighing, and shaking the thoughts from her head, she closed her book and disappeared behind set where she kept her coat and keys in the instrument room. She gathered what she needed in semi-darkness. She really shouldn’t still be here, she realized. It was late and even security wasn’t present anymore. Gathering what she needed she took one step out of the room when a familiar sound hit her ears. The keys.

Someone was playing. It was an eerie, sad sound. Slow and tentative as if the player wasn’t committed to hitting the keys, afraid of who might hear. She stepped onto the stage where Ryan usually sat and poked her head around the corner, surprised at what she found.

He was wearing, simple black pants that were slightly faded in the knees, a long-sleeved collared and cuffed red shirt that hung loose on his frame. He was perched on the bench, eyes closed in concentration, fingers dancing lightly with the keys. He was playing from memory, a song she didn’t recognize, but must mean something to him as he gained confidence and the tempo and intensity increased. She watched him fascinated as the music hit the peak and the chords echoed out in beautiful harmony. She watched him play for a few minutes longer, until finally the notes died away and he opened his eyes. She was intrigued by what she saw there: anguish, pain, guilt.

“I never knew you played?” he visibly tensed and jumped, bolting out of his seat as she made her way over to the piano where she slid onto the smooth black bench. He muttered something that sounded awfully like an apology, but she ignored it, trying to catch his eyes again as if to make sure the emotions she saw there weren’t just her imagination. “what are you still doing here, anyway? It’s awfully late.”

“I could ask you the same question.” She realized now how nervous he looked. He could do anything on stage, grope people to check their sexes, kiss four guys in roughly five minutes, poor hot coffee on his hand and blurt out random words like, ‘animal porn,’ but he couldn’t even look her in the eye. His stage is his security blanket.

“I asked you first.”

He shifted uncomfortable, “I…uh….” She heard his voice shake in uncertainty, “I told the guys I’d meet up with them later.”

She motioned for him to sit and surprisingly he did, “that didn’t answer my question,”

She began to gently prod the keys and played the beginning notes of a well-known duet, He surprised her by joining in, “what do you mean?”

“You just said you told the guys you’d meet up with them later. That didn’t really answer the question.” She leaned into him with a smile, nudging his shoulder as if to physically nudge the answer out of him.

That earned her the softest of smiles and for the first he glanced up at her, brown eyes staring at her curiously, “I…uh…didn’t want to be at the hotel by myself. So I figured I’d stay here.”

“Why didn’t you go out with the rest of the party then?”

Colin just shrugged, turning his attention back to the keys in front of him. She didn’t press him; in a compatible silence with nothing but the music for company they played song after song after song. As one ended they just picked a new one and began playing. Their movements were flawless, but if they did make a mistake they went back a bar and just picked up where they left off. Not even calling the other ones stumble. It seemed like mere minutes, but a half hour later their final song died away; until their hands rested silently on the black and white board in front of them. They just sat there for a moment, “what time is it?”

“Late,” was Colin’s only response, he took his hands away from the keys and rested them nervously in his laps, tugging awkwardly at the end of his sleeves, “Why did you do this?”

The question itself surprised her; it was the one thing she didn’t expect, “do what?”

“Sit here with me?”

“I like to play, besides,” she trailed off for a moment not really knowing how to word what she had been thinking the whole time she had been playing, “you looked lonely, like you needed cheering up.”

“How do you know I needed cheering up?”

“Did it work? Are you happy?”

He thought for a moment before for the first time, really meeting her eyes, he smiled, scratching the back of his head as if to say he was sorry for being so jumpy about it, “yeah,” his smile brought a smile out of her and they both laughed.  
Laura looked at him curiously, “so how did you learn how to play?”

“Well…” he got that distant look again, “my mum taught me when I was young.”

“When you lived in Scotland?”

He just nodded.

“What happened to her?” her voice was soft and gently as if to prod him to keep speaking. If the dark emotions she saw in his eyes earlier were because of something he kept bottled up inside then she was going to make him talk about it, it wasn’t healthy to try and push it away.

He looked surprised at her comment, “she was murdered,” she didn’t speak, just waiting for him to go on, when he didn’t, she lay a gentle hand on his forearm.

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to, but if you do, I’m always an open ear.”

He gave her a thankful smile, “I was only 7, and we had just decided we were going to move to Canada. She said she was going out to the field behind our house to feed the horses, we had three…she never came back in…..” he paused briefly as if contemplating whether or not he wanted to go on or not, but taking a deep breath he dove back into the heart of his story, “they never found her body, until now.”

He pulled out that worn piece of paper and handed it to her. Looking at him as if for permission he nodded and she opened it to silently read. Cutting through the formalities, the letter read that the body of a Sarah Mochrie was found in the hills of Kilmarnock, Scotland. The case was still considered cold. She carefully folded the piece of paper back up and slipped it back into his hand. He must have been surprised by the sudden contact because he flinched before regarding the paper inquisitively. Instead of putting it back into his pocket like she expected him too he opened it up and in one smooth motion crumbled it into a ball and threw it into the garbage can next to him.

She smiled at his sudden ferocity, “shall we?” she motioned to the keys, ready for any song he picked.

She wasn’t at all shocked by the piece he chose. It was quick, fast and full of anger and fury. He used the music to pound out his anger, his frustrations, his fears, his guilt, his very emotions flew into the wooden instrument before him and it was almost to a point where ‘Mix-Master’ Laura Hall couldn’t keep up. When the piece was finally over, they were both breathing slightly heavier than normal, hands trembling with the adrenaline that rushed to their heads. Finally, as if to close the door on this memory and slammed his fingers onto the keys, threw back his head and laughed.

It astounded her into laughing along with him.

“Colin!” the voice was familiar and only slightly slurred, “OOOO! Oooo! COooOOOOLLLLLLINNN!”

Colin’s laughter died down he smiled fondly at the familiar voice, “go back to the car before you hurt yourself Ryan, I’ll be out in a minute,” from the sound of the crash on the other side of the stage, he never made it to the car.

Chuckling softly he stood and locked eyes with Laura, “thank you.”

She smiled, “what are friends for?”

………

In the days that followed nothing was different. He still greeted her with a smile and a nod but she had come to except that as a Mochrie idiosyncrasy. She still got lost in her music; each time there was a small part of her hoping that the Canadian was there next to her, playing with her. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him to join her again.

So nothing changed.

She still played the piano.

And he never played with her again.


End file.
